The Sound of my Soul by Wendy Thornton

The fire/rescue unit calls me out of the surf.Too dangerous, waves too high. Hurricanes poundthe coast from stern to aft, dissecting the sand,intersecting each other with gale force winds,and rip tides that make you gasp.Even pelicans won’t land in this mess

But I confess, this is it, where I want to be,in the midst of wild white foam, dangerous chemistryCan’t go home – just one more wavefly through the ages like fiberglass,as if I could simultaneously touch the skyand the grit beneath my fingers if I don’t break first

The thirst for the ride is nothing compared to the soundof wind in my ears, waves thrashing the living daylights,noise of surf and breeze blowing content from my brain.If I had to die suddenly, this is how it should be,floating out to sea on a rip current, no resistance.I resist instructions to leave this whirling mass,volunteer to be their practice drowning victimbut the fire/rescue guys don’t laugh.